


white light

by kurgaya



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Prosopagnosia, Sad and Happy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 00:26:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17950094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurgaya/pseuds/kurgaya
Summary: Kissing Kakashi is nothing like kissing a stranger, and yet everybody that Gai has ever kissed and ever will is stranger still. Kakashi just happens to be the most familiar of all in a world of unfamiliarity.[Prosopagnosia!AU. Gai recognises his Rival by the shape of his mask and the tremor of his chakra like storm-clouds rolling by].





	white light

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [(Un)Familiarity](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16692472) by [MegaWallflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegaWallflower/pseuds/MegaWallflower). 



> Please take everything I've written about prosopagnosia with a pinch of salt.

“Who’s Kakashi?”

The question grinds Gai’s lecture to a halt. His new team sit in a crescent around him, stoic Neji at one end and bubbly Tenten at the other, Lee pitched forward in enthusiasm between them. The question rings with Tenten’s pre-teen natter, and the two hair buns atop her head could be little ears cocked with curiosity. Her eyes are just as round but hard to focus on – for Gai, at least. He watches the bob of her head instead and tries to identify the expression on her face.

“It’s just – you keep talking about him,” Tenten continues before he can answer, voice wobbling self-consciously. The Academy probably frowned upon interrupting a class, especially with a personal question. Gai doesn’t mind. His wonderful students should never be afraid to ask a question; he’s here to teach and guide them, after all.

“Kakashi is my Esteemed Rival!” Gai announces, planting his hands on his hips. “He’s a fellow jōnin of the village and is a worthy opponent in every challenge! He is both my friend and my greatest foe. I am sure you will meet him one day, he is –”

 _Oh_ , says Tenten, interest waning. She leans her face into her hands and pouts; Gai’s eyes register the downward tilt of her mouth and then his brain ignores it entirely. “Does he, you know, look like you?”

Gai blinks, thrown once again. His friends know better than to ask after physical descriptions: he can better recall the sound of someone’s step than how the parts of their face are aligned. These children will certainly keep him on his toes, if nothing else. “Like me?”

“Formidable!” Lee cries, just as Neji sighs, “Embarrassing.”

“ _Green_ ,” says Tenten, and Gai says, _ah_.

Colours are something else he forgot long ago.

“My Rival has not yet succumbed to the advantages of jumpsuits, no,” he replies, hoping it’s enough of an answer. He cannot be sure what colour Kakashi chooses to wear, but he doubts that’s what Tenten is truly inquiring about. One day, Gai _will_ spring a jumpsuit onto his Rival and Kakashi _will_ like it – even if just for ten seconds (five seconds, two!) – but that’s beside the point. “He does, however, insist on wearing a mask over the lower part of his face, so he is not so easy to miss. One day, I will introduce you all to him! He does not yet have a genin team of his own, but I’m certain you can convince him. Now, going back to ambush techniques…”

 

 

 

Gai is four when his father starts wearing a neckerchief. It’s an off-grey little thing pulled out of the depths of Dai’s closet. It _smells_ off-grey, too, as Dai passes it over for inspection, like cream of mushroom soup and patterned just as bland. Gai rubs his fingers along the fraying seams and feels every wrinkle in the fabric. It’s thick and rough and probably older than he is: Dai laughs when Gai says so and takes the neckerchief back, moustache quirking up as he speaks. He ties the neckerchief around his neck and then nods to himself, and Gai watches, mesmerised, as a stranger grins with his father’s grin and laughs with his father’s laugh.

“There!” says the face with his father’s voice, says the jumble of eyes and ears and teeth. “It’s not quite orange, but we’ll make do! Now I’m easy to see.”

Gai commits the neckerchief to memory. He’s already forgotten what _orange_ looks like, but he thinks of his father’s leg-warmers and the last light of the sun. His mother’s hair was golden orange in the summer. In his father’s room, there’s a photograph of a lady sitting amidst a field of sunflowers. She looks so infectiously happy, but when Gai squints to make out her face, nothing about her is familiar at all.

 

 

 

Gai wakes up each morning in bed with a stranger.

The face opposite him could be anyone. Two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. They mean nothing. He goes to bed each night with someone he cares for, and in the morning, there's a moment where his brain can't quite remember who.

And yet - when the face smiles at him, Gai feels only fondness. There's no panic, no confusion. He's helpless but to smile back.

(It's a love story).

(Even he can see that).

 

 

 

Gai recognises Hatake Sakumo by his mismatched sleeves and wolf’s tail hair.

Once, just once, Gai encounters someone else instead: another man whose hair is a bolt of lightning shooting down his back. For a moment, he is both Sakumo and he isn’t – he could be anyone, friend, family, or foe – but when he turns and smiles despite the tear-like marks on his face, he isn’t Sakumo at all.

(Jiraiya of the Sannin will not remember Gai, but then again, neither will Gai remember him).

Sakumo doesn’t smile much; he doesn’t cry or laugh or speak much at all. One of his sleeves is longer than the other, which Gai likes. It sets him apart; sets him off-balance. Gai counts the triangles along the cuff to identify him: twelve half-diamonds mean _not a stranger_ , anything more or less is someone Gai doesn’t know.

Asuma is a sash and a circle of _Fire_. Genma is a _senbon_ and a forehead-protector tied up in a bow. Kurenai is difficult to pinpoint, but the mystery is by design.

Kakashi is the easiest to recognise of all.

 

 

 

When he started adding Kakashi's favourite foods to his grocery list is anybody’s guess. Gai realises this and that Kakashi's keeps his own kitchen stocked with Gai's tea preferences in the same moment, which is incredible considering that Kakashi's cupboards are often devoid of food. The blueberry tea is always there, though, and unless Kakashi has developed a sudden fondness for it or is, perhaps even _less_ likely, inviting someone _else_ over to the same frequency as Gai, then the tea is intended for Gai's consumption and Gai's alone.

“Huh,” says Gai, pulling a box of _taiyaki_ from his kitchen cupboard. He inspects the box for a moment, as though his eyes might deceive him about this too, and then grabs his original target - the dog treats. He's been buying the ninken treats since the day he learned that Kakashi could summon - but the _taiyaki_ aren't for the dogs _or_ Gai. They must be for Kakashi; Gai must've bought them for Kakashi, and since he doesn't know what to do with this knowledge, he shuts the cupboard door.

One rattle of the dog treats brings the pack skidding into the room. Gai feeds them all one at a time, dangling the bone marrow treats over their noses. Some of them are well-behaved: Akino, Bull, and ever-patient Ūhei. Pakkun bats for the box with his paw and Bisuke tries leaping for it. Gnawing at Gai’s feet reveals Shiba chomping on his slipper. As usual, Guruko is nowhere to be seen: he’s probably head-first into the depths of the sofa or buried at the bottom of the closet. He’ll figure out there’s treats soon enough - just like Kakashi does, sticking his head around the kitchen door.

Gai recognises his Rival by the shape of his mask and the tremor of his chakra like storm-clouds rolling by. Kakashi’s control over his chakra slackens in Gai’s apartment as it seldom does elsewhere; he considers it _average_ , but it’s anything but. His reserves would be phenomenal were the sharingan not draining him - or perhaps _because_ it’s draining him, eating up so much of his lightning that his body compensates with more. When he’s relaxed, it feels seconds away from spilling out of him like a cloud swollen with rain. He sparks, too, when he’s mad, which Kakashi will deny to his grave. Gai wonders if static electricity is the reason Kakashi’s hair stands on end, but he’s never mustered the courage to ask.

When Kakashi is about the village, his chakra is almost still. Gai relies on the unique slant of the forehead-protector and mask over Kakashi’s face to identify him. Kakashi was wearing a mask long before he knew anything about Gai’s trouble with faces - not, that is, that he fully understands Gai’s difficulty. It’s simply a joke to him and their friends and Gai is content to leave it at such. He wouldn’t know how to explain it, anyway; he’s never had to. The medical staff at the hospital told his father and Gai splitting his skull open as a child told the staff.

“You shouldn’t spoil them,” Kakashi says, his hair whiter than anything else in the room. The dogs are all varying shades of grey, but maybe they’re like that to Kakashi’s eyes, too.

(He says the sharingan shows him a world in a haze of red. Gai thinks he can imagine what that's like).

“I'd hardly call this spoiling them, Rival,” Gai argues, reaching for another handful of treats. “But definitions aside, they are your wonderful companions and I am happy to indulge them.”

The dogs cry “Yes!” and “Spoil us!”

Kakashi sighs, but it's a fond sound. He shuffles across the room in his slippers, petting Shiba's mohawk-like fur and Bull's gigantic head as he passes. The dogs, unlike people, are easy to distinguish, and Gai laughs as the un-petted dogs pout and whine. Kakashi motions for the box of treats - which Gai dutifully hands over - and then swaps it for the _taiyaki_ without batting an eye. This prompts even more disappointment from the pack, but Kakashi is less sympathetic about it than Gai.

“Why do you get treats and we don't?” Urushi demands.

“Because tough,” Kakashi replies, munching through the _taiyaki_. His sleight of hands is years in the making and his mask doesn’t seem to move at all. Gai could watch from an inch away and miss the movement; he could stare at Kakashi’s face and not recognise him at all.

Kakashi waves one of the fish-shaped cakes at his pack. “My house, my rules.”

“But this isn't your _house_ ,” Bisuke whines.

“Yeah!” chorus the other dogs. “This ain't your place!”

“Huh,” says Kakashi, still enjoying the _taiyaki_. “So it isn't.”

And he turns to Gai for - _something_ , but whatever the look is blurs to nothing in Gai’s mind.

 

 

 

There aren’t any mirrors in Gai’s apartment. Kakashi seems to find this weird enough to comment on, but Kakashi is also blackout drunk and seconds away from braining himself on the bathtub.

“Oh thank _god_ ,” he slurs, and it’s hard to tell if he flails for the toothbrush, tap, or the edge of the sink. Instead, his hands slap against the mirrorless medicine cupboard and paw around the corners; it could be a dog for all that he’s stroking it, and he tips forward as though to give its imaginary forehead a kiss. “I thought I was the only one.”

Gai tries to press a toothbrush into his hand. “Please brush your teeth.”

“You don’t look _that much_ like your dad,” Kakashi assures. His hands slide from the cupboard to Gai’s face, ignoring the toothbrush entirely. He cups Gai’s jaw in an almost tender fashion (as though they’re something not-platonic, as though they’re something more than friends), but then he squeezes a little too hard and Gai feels his teeth ache.

“I would be honoured to look like my father,” Gai replies, although he has absolutely no idea.

Kakashi laughs and it’s - terrible. “You know -” And here he accepts the toothbrush and shoves it into his mouth, dry and toothpaste-less but an attempt at teeth-cleaning all the same. Gai averts his gaze as the mask comes down to stare at the bathtub instead. “You’re the only person who’s never said I look like my father.”

Gai stares at the bathtub a little harder.

The toothbrush scratches over Kakashi’s teeth. Through a mouthful of bristles he says, “Thanks,” and in the morning he has no memory of the conversation at all.

 

 

 

His team, bless them, eventually deduce that Gai sees the world differently. They never confront him about it, which is odd; they're taijutsu specialists, they confront everything. If they discuss it amongst themselves is another matter, but by the time Gai notices, Lee has taken to announcing anyone who approaches by name, and Tenten has swapped out her colour-coded weapons scrolls for patterned ones instead. Neji is the most direct about it of all and yet he never mentions it to _Gai_ directly. Rather, he starts to describe their surroundings even without the byakugan, profiling their clients and targets without colour, focusing instead on their clothes, mannerisms, and gait.

“The man in the middle is our client,” Neji whispers as they approach the mansion situated deep into Hot Water. “Five foot seven. Three long chains around his neck. The edge of his robe is embroidered with birds.”

And in the muddy fields of Rain:

“Far left is the bodyguard. Ninjutsu specialist with the ponytail. His charge is the half-drowned teenager in the robes so he can't be that good.”

“The teenager trying to chat up _Lee_ , you mean,” Tenten says from Neji's other side. Wet strands of hair slip free from her buns as she shakes her head. She flips a scroll over in her hands as threateningly as any kunai. “Do you think we should save him?”

Neji scoffs. “Lee?”

“Nah, the idiot.”

“So - _Lee_ ,” Neji repeats.

Gai tries really, really hard not to smile. He loves these kids; becoming a teacher was the best decision he ever made. Deep down, he knows he shouldn’t have allowed himself to grow so attached in a time of war, but he can’t help himself. They’re his own - even if no blood ties them together. He announces as much to anyone who will listen, filled with happiness and glowing like a sun incessant with pride. Most simply roll their eyes or tell him to _quiet down_ , but there are a few who can see the depth of his love, and there are fewer still who truly understand.

(Gai would die for his team. He would sacrifice himself without question. Just like his father. Just like almost everyone Kakashi has ever loved.

“Do what you want,” Kakashi had snarled the last time they’d argued about it; they don’t often argue, in fact, over things that matter they rarely do, but over this they’ll never agree. Gai doesn’t need to recognise Kakashi’s face to know what he hides under his mask: a wolf’s bite and the anger of his ancestors as they stormed down from the hills. “But know I’d never forgive you.”)

 

 

 

“You know,” Tsunade begins, throwing Gai’s medical file down onto the hospital bed. She hooks a foot around a chair-leg and slides it over, plonking herself into the seat with an equally careless motion. Almost-white hair bounces over her shoulders. “I thought _Kakashi_ had issues with eyes, but you’re a real piece of work, aren’t you?”

Gai grimaces as he tidies up the loose pages of his file. He broke four ribs and his collarbone while liasioning with Fire’s northernmost outpost, but he doubts that’s why Tsunade is here. “It isn’t something I often speak of.”

“No shit,” says Tsunade, kicking her legs up onto the bed. Her heels could pierce a hole straight through Gai’s calf. A medic’s coat drapes down to the floor. Lee told him that Tsunade is also partial to wearing dark blocks of green, but Gai will have to take his word for it. The shinobi of the village are a sea of shadow to Gai (genin blacks and chūnin blacks and jōnin blacks), and Tsunade is just another shade of grey. “Are you invulnerable to the sharingan?”

She isn’t the first Hokage to ask. “Unfortunately not. My vision is not… impaired.”

Tsunade hums and takes a swig of her flask. Hopefully it’s coffee. A beat passes in which she just _looks_ at him; Gai can feel her thoughts like ice-cold water down his back. And then, without amble, she says, “This probably isn’t something I can heal.”

Gai would never ask her to and he blinks, taken aback. “I’ve didn't -”

“Brains are tricky things,” Tsunade continues, speaking over him. She sloshes the probably-not-coffee around in her flask. “Given enough time, they try to fix themselves. They adapt. Who knows what I’d do if I tried putting yours back together. Trust me, there’s not a medic on the _planet_ stupid enough to do it. And if there was, I’d sure as _hell_ beat their ass for it. Does that disappoint you?”

“No,” Gai replies - and it's the truth. Whether this catches her by surprise is anyone's guess. “I came to terms with this as a child. I've no desire for a cure.”

Tsunade nods. “Good,” she says - and that’s that.

 

 

 

Even spitting lightning, Kakashi is the most beautiful man Gai’s ever met.

Some things are complicated. Faces. Sakumo’s death. War. But wanting Kakashi to be happy is perhaps Gai’s simplest desire of all.

“What?” Kakashi asks, one gloved hand squeezing Gai’s hip. His expression is openly curious, his cheeks dark, and there is something in his eyes that Gai hesitates to name. Whatever it is, it’s all the more jumbled now that his mask is gone: instead of sitting high over his cheekbones, it now cuts a sharp line beneath Kakashi’s mouth, pulled down to reveal flush-bitten lips but no further. The black neck contrasts against the sunless pale of his skin. He’s handsome in the way that everybody imagines he’s handsome; everybody but Gai, who’s never needed Kakashi’s face to know.

Kissing Kakashi is nothing like kissing a stranger, and yet everybody that Gai has ever kissed and ever will is stranger still. Kakashi just happens to be the most familiar of all in a world of unfamiliarity.

“I didn’t think I was _that_ bad,” Kakashi whines. The downward tilt of his head suggests despondency; the worry of his lip is abashed. “It’s the mask, isn’t it? Don’t tell me you -”

“No,” Gai says; _your face means nothing to me_ , he doesn't. But still he can’t resist stroking his thumb over Kakashi’s jaw. Fuzzy little hairs curl up under his touch. “It’s nothing,” he assures, brushing his thumb over the choppy end of Kakashi’s lightning-white hair. It’s thick and soft, unlike the rest of him; on the thin side of unhealthy, even as a child. “I would like to kiss you again.”

Kakashi’s eyes pinch into half-moons of happiness and then slip from Gai’s mind. The swirl of _tomoe_ in his darkest eye may be amusement, it may be intent. Gai struggles to picture it. The press of his mouth against Gai’s is certainly welcome, however, as are the nip of his teeth. _Dog’s teeth_ , Gai remembers, and he smiles into the kiss.

This close, Kakashi’s face is a blur of pale skin and dark lines, and it will remain so even when they pull away.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [badthingshappenbingo](https://badthingshappenbingo.tumblr.com/). Prompt was "body image issues" which I obviously took wildly out of context as usual lmao. Acquired prosopagnosia is often co-morbid with achromatopsia which is why there's no colour in the fic :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Any and all comments are appreciated :)


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